


A Kiss is Just A Kiss

by Berty



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Community: ds_aprilfools, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berty/pseuds/Berty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few seconds, no more, to have everything and lose it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss is Just A Kiss

I look up and down the corridor he has brought me to. Poorly lit, roughly painted brickwork, unheated - it is simply a conduit, a route from one part of the building to another. I fail to grasp the significance and turn to ask.

He's right there, so close behind me, I take a step back in surprise.

He braces a hand against the wall behind my head, leaning into my space, crowding me, trying to force a reaction. I could move, I could duck or slide along the wall, but the tantalising ghost of his breath on my cheek, smelling of sweet coffee and mint confuses me, and I stand frozen to the spot, watching him come slowly closer, and closer still.

I've never seen his eyes so close up before; I had no idea their colour was so complex. Blue/grey irises with flecks of hazel, like nothing I've ever seen, and wide black pupils of bottomless shadow. They fill my field of vision and my mind, and it feels like the whole world has narrowed to those two points of an indeterminate shade.

When the gap between us is no more than a few centimetres, he pauses. Although his body touches me at no point, I can feel the heat of him like physical contact through our clothing. Dimly, I'm aware that I'm only breathing in the shallowest of ways, almost panting. Ridiculously, I wonder what I must look like, flushed, mesmerised and hyperventilating.

His gaze flickers to my lips, then back to my eyes. His intent is clear, and still I don't move or do anything to prevent it. I'm not trapped; I have choices. He's fast and strong, but I'm heavier, and both of my hands are free; I could push and he'd give. I know he'd give.

But I don't push.

He leans in and places rough fingers on my jaw, bringing his chest against me. His lips feel dry when they finally take mine - dry and cool and gentle. Impossibly gentle. But his heart beats hard and fast against my ribs; I feel it over the staccato rhythm my own. Like some unusual dichotomy, two states inhabiting the same space, his skin is burning, his eyes are dark fire, but somehow his mouth is light like fresh air and open skies. His kiss is not ensnarement and deception – it's… it feels like… freedom.

His eyes close and he angles his head to rub his mouth on mine softly and with infinite care. Were I restrained, I would be more capable of movement than I am right now. His lips ghost over me, his lightest pressure pins me, rendering me incapable of coherent thought or meaningful deed.

My eyes flutter closed and I wait.

I know he's not her - _I know_ , but I always had to pay for her kisses in some way and I have come to expect there to be a price attached to intimacy. With her it was my honour, my friends, my sanity - almost my life. But what can _he_ want from me?

When he pulls away, he doesn't go far. He straightens his arm and I open my eyes and look at this surprising new Ray; this Ray who can rob me of my free will, this Ray who has changed everything with a single action, this Ray who kisses me – even for the first time - with utter conviction and so much tenderness, my own withered heart can't even see the shape of it.

His chameleon eyes catch me again, making it impossible for me to look away. And I see the second that he realises.

"Ah," he says softly and steps back, accepting his own weight once more. He wraps his arms around himself and all that energy and life is contained again, clutched back within him and denied to me.

I thought I couldn't be any more off balance, but he laughs quietly, and I feel the hairs on my neck bristle. There's no warmth to the noise, it's a tired, hollow echo.

He cocks his head and frowns as if he's working something out, that self-deprecating smile still lingering.

"Ray…" I croak, my back still pressed up against the cold brickwork; I feel the chill of it in my shoulder blades and my hips, wherever they connect to its solidness. And still my respiration is laboured, breathing with a fraction of my lungs only. If I could get a good breath, I could start to explain. But even this simple act is currently beyond my capability.

His eyes are bright and hard, and he grins, a gesture so false, so brittle I can almost hear the pings of the shatter cracks.

"My mistake, Frase. I'm sorry," he murmurs. His boots scrape on the concrete as he turns, shoving his hands deep in his jeans pockets. He walks away, his slouch both familiar and somehow more pronounced than usual.

And like the fool I am, I watch him go, trapped in my world and too afraid to reach for his.

Fin.


End file.
